The next morning, as Anderson clumsily waved at you as you walked by with his folder, you entered the briefing room to see the round table filled with cords and convoluted wires circling the legs of the table, an ominous presentation this early in the morning for you to decipher.
Soft flashes of light from a command board with toggles and switches and green and red buttons circled a phone that sat in the dead-center of the table like an eerie reminder of all the mysterious empty phone calls Hotch had received.
"What is all of this?" you ask curiously, dropping your book bag onto the floor beside you as Garcia and Derek continued setting up the complex system of technology you had failed to understand.
Rossi, who was idly standing in the corner as Garcia and Derek chipped away at the system, answers, "You're going to call the unsub, make it clear you've turned down his offer, and let him know you plan on seeing Hotch later tonight."
A voice comes out from behind you at the door, growing louder as it nears you. "I still haven't agreed to this. We're risking . . . a lot," Hotch stringently reminds as he enters the room, but there's a fearful shakiness in his voice. His fingers flutter behind you, touching the small of your back comfortingly, dropping his hand as he comes into Rossi's view.
"Are we trying to trace him?" you question, feeling the rush of Hotch's delicate touch still circulate as Garcia dramatically joins two wires together. Without her, this case would've gone nowhere.
"It's unlikely we'll get a location," Garcia chimes in cheerily, juxtaposing the pessimistic tone the conversation was taking. "The unsub has been pinging his cell off different cell towers. I haven't been able to get a hit."
"But we need to get the unsub riled up enough to make a mistake and meet you two at the restaurant," Rossi adds, directing his attention toward you. "Make it clear you're not accepting his offer, shatter his god complex."
"And if he doesn't show up?" you ask preemptively.
"He will," Hotch counters decisively, turning out towards the exit again. His shoulders brush up against yours discreetly. "Y/N, can we talk privately in my office? I'd like to go over the phone call and plans for tonight."
"Of course," you answer back, following him out the briefing room as Derek and Garcia continue to flirtatiously set up the phone system. You could hear their witty banter from down the hall.
Shutting the door behind him, Hotch leans against his desk pensively. His fingers tap at the rim of the table, eyes drawn to you in contemplation.
"I'm sure you're aware I still haven't finalized this operation yet. Your safety is our — my — priority. We're forcing you to openly turn down the unsub's deals, which I understand is not an easy thing to do. Your life's on the line, and I don't need you to risk that just to catch the bad guy. There are other ways." His voice is rough, but his words are gentle, hitting the air like it's about to break. "Ways that don't put you in danger."
You stand up, leveling yourself so you're making eye contact with him. He holds it, tethering his stare with yours as he waits for your answer. The corner of your lip quirks upward as you close in on the distance between the two of you. "If you think I'm going to let some cowardly unsub manipulate me into leaving you," you say, jabbing your finger into his chest as you got closer. "Then you're sorely mistaken, Aaron Hotchner."
Hotch shakes his head, a soft grin coming out from under his cold, stoic stare. "You are something else, Y/N L/N." Your full name sounds foreign in his mouth, curling his tongue airily. He leans in forward, hooking his chin to the crook of your neck, his resonant voice lingering near your ear. "You make me question who's boss."
His laugh is subtle under his breath, for a moment you think you imagined it. It's like a brush of cool wind hitting your cheeks, and there is something remarkably refreshing about the way his hands wrap around your waist — drawing you in. After last night, you weren't entirely sure where you stood with Hotch, but the look in his eyes — usually indecipherable and lackluster — is comforting and welcoming.
"I like to keep you on your toes," you tease, following the guidance of his hands and falling closer into him. His hand travels to the hem of your skirt, lifting it slowly so he could continue his path between your thighs.
The cool flush of his palm explores your inner thigh, going higher until he reaches the outline of your panties. "Are you sure?" he asks again, surveying for your consent before continuing. "You've had a rough week."
Your hand guides his hand farther down your inner thigh, taking control which catches his undivided attention. Your mouth climbs up to his, melting into each other. "Well distract me."
He forcefully pushes his knee out, spreading your legs apart so you're standing over his thigh. The look in his eyes is lustful, boring into yours with forbidding precision. "Go on then, you whore."
"What," you say cluelessly, unsure of what he expected from you.
"Sit," he commands.
"I- Are you sure? They might hear," you warn, inching closer to the friction you desperately ached for.
"I'll make sure to shut you up then."
His forceful hands push you down against his thigh, your wet pussy riding up against the rough fabric of his pants in untameable euphoria. Just one brush up against him, and the familiar crumbling feeling comes drowning out your rationale.
"My whore is going to be quiet for me, right? Or am I going to need to fuck you so good the only word you'll know is my name?"
You rock your hips forward, your head falling onto Hotch's shoulder as you hold onto his neck for support. Your nails begin to dig into the loose fabric of his dress shirt. "Yes, sir."
He pulls your neck back, holding your throat so you're looking at him while you continue to ride. "Do you like this? Your pretty pussy up against me?"
"Yes," you choke out in a breathless whimper. His fingers tighten around your neck, the pleasure almost suffocating you. His study of your anatomy is breathtaking, finding each dip and crevice and using it to satisfy you.
"What do you like about it?" he demands, noticing how senseless you turned under his touch. He continues to slam you down, knocking the air out of your lungs until there are breathless moans filling the tender space between the two of you.
You roll your eyes, catching the back of your head sarcastically. This man couldn't take a simple answer; he always wanted more. He liked to see the way you looked under his touch, under the dominance of his voice.
It hadn't even been that long and the stimulation had mounted into an unbearable, ecstatic feeling. He bounces his thigh, a sly smirk forming as he knew the effect he had on you.
"You make me feel so good," you moan out achingly, trying to contain the moans you suppressed. Everything is calculated, but your mind is buzzing with only one thought: him.
"Keep going, Y/N. I need you to show me how much you deserve to cum."
He's getting tired of waiting, taking charge as his hands wrap up around your hips and push you down farther. You feel the rush to your head build up, the knots in your stomach forming. "Show me how good I can make you feel."
You can tell Hotch's pants are going to have a little wet mark on them, but his hands are adamantly on you, guiding you with a firm grip. You quickened your pace, now even more desperate as the fabric rubs up against you in relentless euphoria.
"Go ahead, cum. You've been such a good girl."
You let go of yourself, feeling your orgasm bloom up within you. The rise satisfying the eventual fall of your pleasure, as his hands continue to thrust you onto his thighs through your release. The tension unwinds like a loose cord as you fall onto him weakly.
He gets up, leaning you up against the table tenderly, making sure you're comfortable. "You did so well for me. You always do." His finger draws a line down your jawline, curving it to follow the outline of your face. "Are you ready to go back? They'll be waiting for us soon."
"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," you remark wearisomely, trying to hold onto the impermanent feeling of your climax as the stubborn reminder of returning to work infiltrates your mind.
Hotch adjusts his suit to cover up the mark you left, walking beside you as you entered the briefing room again. The team slowly files in after you've settled as Garcia finishes setting up the phone line and recorder.
"It's all set up," Garcia reveals anxiously, hesitance tainting her voice. She hates this as much as Hotch, repulsed at the idea of you negotiating with the unsub. "When you're ready."
The team joined around the table as you reluctantly dialed the same number that had been dialing Hotch these past few weeks. The ring on speaker phone makes the waiting even more painfully nerve wracking as the team continues to watch you, eyeing the phone as you all collectively wait for a response. Suddenly, there's a click on the other side of the line, and you feel the bustle of your nerves ignite.
"I've been waiting," the scratchy voice drawled. There's something diabolical and infernal in the masked voice. "I'm sure you've made your decision by now, Y/N."
"I have," you resolutely state, lowering your eyebrows in study. "I've decided I'm going to continue seeing Hotch."
The team's eyes were cautiously glued to you, leaning in forward as the conversation unraveled. They didn't know you were being serious, that your decision was more than just a ploy in finding the unsub. You meant it.
Surprise taints the masked voice, which quickly metamorphoses into anger. "Don't be stupid, you pathetic whore."
"My decision is final. You don't get to decide my life."
"I want to hear Aaron say it," the unsub demands easily, his voice steady in the unpredicted news.
"What?" Your voice drops.
"I want to hear Aaron say he's perfectly okay with you putting your life on the line to stay with him. Don't play dumb. I know he's with you."
Hotch snatches the phone from you, bringing it to his ear as his nose flared in anger. "You have no authority over me," he sternly demands.
The voice on the other side lets out a maniacal laugh. "That's where you're wrong, Aaron. I have you wrapped around my finger. That's why you think Y/N shouldn't risk this; you think she should take my offer. You'd be right, too. That's why you can't admit you're okay with her decision."
"I'm okay with it," he grates out, voice strained as he turns his back towards the team. Something was biting at him on the inside, and he had trouble keeping it a secret.
"Was that supposed to be convincing?" the voice asks comically, chuckling. "Ugh, feelings. Gross."
"You're a narcissistic alpha male with a god complex," Hotch profiles skillfully. "You've worked with Foyet, and you're playing out a delusional fantasy of his. You've killed 6 people with no signs of stopping, so, frankly, I could care less about how convincing I sound. I'm going to put you in jail, and that's final," Hotch bursts out, losing his temper like a whistle on a tea kettle. The steam built up, and he was fuming as he waited for a response.
"If you insist, Aaron. Just know the blood is on your hands."
author's note:
um okay, first, thank you for 1k votes and almost 30k reads. i'm literally blown away people are even reading this, nonetheless so many of you. i am so extremely grateful for you all < 3
this is a short chapter that definitely still has some grammatical errors that i'll get around to fixing, but other than that, enjoy! have a great day/night!